


Trying Again

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Collars, Cuffs, Dom John, Dom/Sub AU, Established Relationship, Kneeling, Leashes, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Orgasm Denial, Punishment, Restraints, Sub Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-04-28 16:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Baskerville John has had enough. He seeks a new, more extreme way to make Sherlock listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

Dealing with Henry had been difficult to say the least, he was a Dom, and the only way John could help him was to invoke an old doctor/patient law. However, even after that, John still wasn't done. He knew dealing with his errant sub was going to be worse.

He could see that Sherlock wanted to stay another night, prolonging the inevitable, and when he made towards the bar to book another evening, John grabbed Sherlock by the scruff of the neck and dragged him as roughly as he could up the stairs. “You are in so much trouble, young man. Get packing.” He pushed him towards their cases.

“John-”

“No, don't argue with me!” John barked. “You were right. I haven't pulled rank in ages. You've been remarkably good recently and you're also right that I do enjoy it. I now have a reason to pull rank on you. Start fucking packing, Sherlock, or I swear to God I will punish you here and now in front of the window where everyone outside can see.”

The detective set about collecting their clothes together straight away, worrying glances heading in John's direction every once and a while.

“Neatly!” John ordered.

Sherlock flinched and began folding each item of clothing with great precision.

“We are catching the last train back to London.” John pulled his laptop out and set about sorting the tickets out, watching the younger man out of the corner of his eye. He doubted that Sherlock understood how much trouble he was in.

***

When they got back to London after a very tense train journey, Sherlock was beginning to recognise the level of trouble he had caused for himself. His suspicions were confirmed when they pulled up in Baker Street only to find they couldn't stop right outside 221 seeing as there was a black jaguar parked in the way. John heard his boyfriend growl as he paid the cabbie.

Mycroft clambered out of the back as John dragged Sherlock from the cab by his collar. “I'm on it, Mycroft,” John said as politely as he could to the older Holmes brother. With his free hand he opened the door and shoved his brat inside.

Sherlock's hands had been behind his back, but as soon as they got into 221 they went to his neck.

“Upstairs. Strip. Corner. Hands up,” John snarled shoving him towards the stairs.

Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to turn and argue, not when the door closed and he knew Mycroft was this side of it. John watched him run up the seventeen steps as fast as it was possible for his legs to move and then he turned to the British Government.

***

Sherlock was beyond worried. He striped as fast as he could and folded his clothes, placing them on John's chair. Then he stood amongst all the clutter in his corner, his hands raising into position behind his head. He hadn't been there in so long that he hadn't bothered to keep it clear. He hated Time Out. Absolutely despised it. He had no way of knowing what was going on, and at the moment, after the hound incident, he was struggling to acknowledge what his senses were telling him. His ears weren't being helpful. All he could smell was his fear and London fumes coming through the open window that Mrs. Hudson must have left open.

He didn't know how long he stood there, his nose in the corner like a school boy. What he did know, was that tears had already begun at the thought of letting John down so badly. Again. That's all he seemed to do; let him down. He couldn't do anything right. He couldn't even figure out the case without a man getting blown to pieces. And Henry Knight was more traumatised afterwards than he had been before, especially seeing as he had terrified his psychiatrist and had to get a new one. He'd even upset John before they'd even left by trashing the flat. He had the urge to look around, but didn't know what John was doing. He wasn't even sure if he had come up or not. He just needed to make it up to the doctor, his doctor. They-he could fix things.

“Sherlock, I love you,” was the first thing he heard, but it was followed by the last thing he ever wanted to hear. “But I don't know if I can keep doing this,” he sighed. “Turn around, but do not leave the corner.”

The detective turned around, head low, tears in his eyes that were threatening to fall already.

“You are going to get one of us hurt. You would feel awful if I got hurt and I couldn't live with myself if you did.”

“It wouldn't be your fault if I…”

“It's my job to protect you, Sherlock!” John snapped, cutting across him. He ran a hand over his face in desperation and took a deep calming breath. “Nothing I do or say gets through to you.”

“John…”

“I think you should stay with Mycroft for a bit. I offered to move out, but he insisted you move in with him.”

“No!” His hands sagged from behind his head and he slumped forward, only just managing to remain in the corner. “Please John!”

“Take your collar off. He's waiting outside. You should pack a bag.”

John stood up and suddenly Sherlock was on his knees, his head pressed to the floor at the doctor's feet. “Please John,” he sobbed, no longer managing to stay on top of his tears. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't send me to my brother.”

“Why not?” John asked, but his tone was bitter. He hadn't left though, so Sherlock took that as a positive, until; “because Mycroft's punishment of you would be so much worse than mine? Because he will-”

“No!” Sherlock cut him off. “I'll miss you. I can't stand to be without you.” He risked a glance up, his eyes were red rimmed and tear tracks were more than apparent. John remained stoically silent. “Sir… please,” he shuffled forward and rested his head on his shoes. “You can punish me however you like, and I will take it, sir, I promise. I deserve it.”

“Yes, you do deserve punishment, but Mycroft can give you that just as well as I could.”

“No, sir. No he couldn't. He doesn't understand. He wasn't there.”

“Sherlock… there is no point. You never listen to me. I punish you and lecture you and you promise you'll do better and yet the next time the opportunity arises you fuck up again.” He took a step back and the detective's head hit the floor. “Maybe it's me… I don't know if I am what you need. Or even want.”

“Sir… I will listen. I swear I will listen. I will do whatever you want. I won't run off on cases. I… I'll do the washing up… and tidy up after myself and…” and, and, and he couldn't breathe, there was no air and John was going to leave him, abandon him to his brother and…

“Sherlock, Sherlock, stop! Stop, come back to me. Sherlock! You're having a panic attack. I need you to breathe deeply for me. In and out. Do it with me…”

And… John, brilliant wonderful John, was on his knees in front of him holding his head in his hands. “In and out, Sherlock. Come on, with me.”

Sherlock copied the older man with his breathing, as deeply as he could. He saw the doctor's own tears threatening to fall. He just felt even worse.

“Good boy. Well done.” When he was sure the younger man had his breathing under control he stood back up again distancing from him.

“P-please, sir,” Sherlock sobbed. “I'll be good I promise. Don't leave me, sir.”

“Sherlock… I'm not what you need right now, you need Mycroft. Can I have your collar please? We'll discuss this when I'm not so bloody pissed off with you and you are less emotional.”

“No,” he choked. “Please, sir. I promise I'll be good. Just give me one more chance…” It was one last attempt to make him listen and John could see him prepared to hand his collar over if it didn’t work.

He sighed at his distraught sub. “Stand up, go straight to the bedroom and change into your pyjamas.”

Sherlock looked up and froze. His face was pale and tear tracks mixed with sweat.

“Do not make me repeat myself, Sherlock!”

“No, sir. Sorry, sir.” Sherlock moved to obey the doctor and disappeared into the bedroom.

With a deep breath, John collapsed into his chair and closed his eyes, half wondering whether to text Mycroft and tell him that the plan had worked. He had had no plans on leaving the detective. He just needed to be scared. When he was scared, he was honest, and that would mean John would be able to see what he really wanted.

Well, he'd had plans at the start. He was all up for separating himself from the sub. It was Mycroft who had talked him into it, talked him into staying. He knew how much better Sherlock was with John as his Dom and knew for a fact Sherlock wouldn't, _couldn't_ last alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

John found Sherlock on his knees beside the bed. He had done as he was told, for once. He was clad in his pyjamas, bare feet just noticeable, peaking out beside his bum. His head was low, as he was deep in thought, but he immediately became more aware at the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open.

“Right, it's very late, but you are on punishment from now until I say otherwise. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” came the soft reply.

“Bow your head.”

At the command, the younger man's head came forward further. He worried that the older man was going to undo his collar and take it away after all, but John, in a way, did the opposite. He clipped on his leash. “You will also remain leashed,” he added.

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock repeated. He usually hated his leash, that level of restraint and restriction it posed, but right now he couldn't have asked for anything better, especially as he was on punishment. Punishments varied in length. He could never tell how long it was going to be. John would just say that he was in trouble, now and that was it. If Sherlock had been worse than a level '7' on John's scale, he was leashed too. Leash meant John, before it meant boredom, but John was all it meant right now.

“Go to the bathroom and do what you need to, then come back and get into bed.”

At that, Sherlock looked surprised. He was going to be able to sleep in bed? He was in the most trouble he'd ever been in and John was still going to sleep with him. Shouldn't he be on the sofa? That made him feel even guiltier. He was in more trouble than he'd ever been in and the Dom was still kind enough to let him get a full night’s sleep. He wasted too much time, though, as John had to prod him into action.

“Go.”

“Yes, sir,” he said for a third time.

When Sherlock had finished in the bathroom, he returned sheepishly to the doorway. John patted the bed beside him and Sherlock wandered over. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said immediately.

John just nodded. “Lie down.” His boy obeyed and settled under the duvet. He didn't complain when the Dom tied the leash to the bed frame. He didn't complain, either, when the doctor pulled out the leather cuffs. He just held his wrists up, allowing0 him to tighten them at his leisure and join them together with a karabiner.

“Now go to sleep.”

Worriedly, the younger man nodded. “Yes, sir.”

***

John awoke the following morning to the sound of sniffles. It wasn't usual for Sherlock to cry, but the only times he ever did was to get out of punishment or at the end of a particularly harsh punishment. He was on his knees beside the bed, his head as low as it could get, with his collar still attached to the bed frame, his cuffed wrists in front of him.

“Sherlock? What are you doing? It's 7:30 in the morning and we didn't get to sleep until gone 3.” He knew it was a stupid question. The maximum he could sleep was 4 or 5 hours and that was without a case.

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“I know. That doesn't make things right, though, does it? Have you changed your mind? Do you want me to call Mycroft?”

He shook his head. “No, sir. No.” He was sobbing, but John wasn't going to fall for it. The brat should be upset. He wasn't going to lighten his sentence because of his crying. If anything, it just upset John too. He loved his boy. The thought of leaving him had been the worst thing that had ever gone through his head, but he needed to be punished, strict and firm. He needed to learn for once.

“Right. Well, seeing as I'm awake,” he rolled over and separated his wrists then untied the leash, leaving it hanging down his back. “Go and put the kettle on. Bring back two teas and 4 slices of toast. Do not forget the butter.”

Sherlock scarpered out of the room and John rested back against the head board. He took a deep breath and reached for his book. These next few days with his sub were going to be incredibly tiring.

***

“Up here,” the doctor ordered when his sub returned. He grabbing the leash again. Sherlock stumbled slightly, but didn't complain as he placed the tray on the bed.

“You're also going to remain naked during your punishment. I have decided that you will not be going on cases either.” Sherlock's head snapped up, but John continued before he got the opportunity to argue. “I know we agreed years ago as well as contracted that cases can happen during punishments, but the only way I am going to get through to you is with drastic actions. This may seem unfair, but I don't give a shit. You need to be 100% focused on what you did and 100% focused on pleasing me. However, as normal, when the punishment is over, it is over, but there is no guarantee that it is in the immediate future. Tell me now you don't want this or safe word outside of a scene and I will call Mycroft.”

“No, sir.” Sherlock didn't want to leave John, especially to end up with his brother. There was also a very slim chance that Mycroft wouldn’t let him out of his sight either. He'd probably end up tethered to his desk while the British Government ran the government.

“So you aren't going to argue with me?” John's tone suggested he was surprised.

“No, sir,” he confirmed.

“Good.” He gave him a slice of toast. “Eat.”

Sheepishly, Sherlock took the slice. He tucked his legs to his chest and rested his chin on his knees and began to nibble on the toast.

They ate in silence. Sherlock managed both pieces as well as his tea. Any other day, that would have earned him a smile or a pat on the head. Today, it just earned him no extra punishment, which he was still grateful for.

“Go and wash up. I'm going to get ready for a shower. When you're done, come and find me.”

“Yes, sir,” his nose had curled slightly at the thought of washing up, but if he was going to argue with his Dom it needed to be over something worthwhile, not something petty. He thought that through and realised how stupid he was being. He didn't want to argue with him at all. He was lucky to still be collared. He collected the dishes together and made for the kitchen.

***

“Kneel,” was the first thing John said when he entered the bathroom. His fingers were wrinkly from the bath water. The mirror had steamed up and the air was warm where the shower had been running.

Sherlock didn't hesitate and his legs folded beneath him. “Hands behind your back.” Again, he obeyed and bowed his head, his chin rested comfortably on his collar. His collar. He was still John's. For now. He needed to keep it that way.

John cuffed his wrists behind him. “Go and wait by the door, face the bed. I will call you when I'm done.”

“Yes, sir.” He wasn't overly fond of the idea he had to look away from the Dom, but he could see why John wanted it that way. He doubted he would get the comfort of a shared shower or the opportunity to give the older man a blow job with water cascading over them for a long while.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

Sherlock shifted on his knees. He deserved to be knelt. He deserved to be uncomfortable. John could have got the flogger out, or worse the cane. He still might. That thought darkened his mind and he shook himself out of it. What was he thinking? It could have been even worse than that. John could have left for good and he would have been stuck with his brother. How dull. He had never seen John so mad. A shower would help to relax him, soothe him. He just wished he could wash his hair or something. Maybe he should offer. Then again, he had explicitly said to wait facing the bed. Getting up and going to see was more than likely to have disastrous consequences when he weighed up the pros and cons.

“Boy!” John shouted as he flicked the water off.

The detective stood with grace, despite having his hands cuffed behind him and turned into the bathroom. “Yes, sir?”

He pulled the curtain back with one hand as he ran the other through his hair. “Turn around,” he ordered.

The sub obeyed and John unclipped the karabiner. “Towel.”

Sherlock nodded and went for a fluffy towel, but decided to grab two as well as John's dressing gown.

He returned and knelt next to the Dom who had stepped out now and was on the bath mat. He handed one up to him and began drying his legs down, trying his hardest to ignore the soft cock in front of him. He missed the doctor's slight smile at the way the younger man was being helpful without being argumentative. It made a nice change, and John was tired.

Sherlock shuffled back out of the way when John stepped to the mirror. He held the towel tightly and rested his hands behind his back as John brushed his teeth.

“Go and make yourself useful,” the doctor said as he turned to pee. “I want a pair of pants, socks, shirt, jeans and a jumper.”

The detective's head ducked once. “Yes, sir.”

He found the comfiest clothes that John owned, including the cream jumper that Sherlock secretly liked, and laid everything out on the bed. Then he knelt.

John smiled slightly at his sub on the floor. He walked past him and made himself comfy on the edge of the bed.

“Do you not know how to put a pair of socks on, boy?” The doctor asked after a moment.

Sherlock startled into action. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” He gathered the socks up in a slightly trembling hand and began to help his Dom dress.

“Now, I want you to have a shower, but you're shit out of luck when it comes to hot water.”

Sherlock had kind of been expecting that. The Dom had taken a long time. Again, he deserved to have a relaxing shower and Sherlock deserved it to be cold.

“You've got 10 minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

John unbuckled his collar and took it with him as he headed to the sitting room.

Sherlock found John 8 minutes later and knelt beside his chair. It wasn’t exactly difficult to shower in cold water in under 10 minutes, especially seeing as he didn't need to get dressed.

John didn't look up immediately as he read his paper, but after a few minutes was sure he heard teeth chattering. One glance at his boy told him he was correct. Well, he was still naked, as ordered, and after a cold shower he had nothing to warm himself up with.

“Go and get my dressing gown,” he ordered going back to his paper.

A quiet 'Yes, sir' and pattering feet later and John sensed Sherlock's presence again.

When John next looked up ready to tell Sherlock what he would be doing for the majority of the day, he realised he hadn't put the dressing gown on and was only holding it.

He took it and sighed. Never had Sherlock been so good and yet it seemed odd.

“Put your arms in, pet,” he ordered.

Sherlock looked up in surprise, but complied.

“I told you to get mine because yours isn't that warm.”

“Right.”

John squinted at him slightly, but let it go. He waved a hand around the room. “As you can see, on your hunt for cigarettes a few days ago, you trashed the flat.” The detective's head ducked at that. “You're going to tidy it up, but you'll do it after you've made me another cup of tea.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sherlock didn't quite understand what was going on. He had been told he was going to remain naked and then John had told him to go and get the doctor's dressing gown. He'd been unsure what for, but hadn't questioned it and was even further confused when he helped him into it. Yes, he'd been cold. He'd had a cold shower and nothing to warm him up in between that and kneeling for the older man. John saying it was because his was warmer made Sherlock feel even guiltier; despite the Dom being so angry, angry enough to want to separate themselves from each other, he still cared enough to worry about something as petty as being cold.

He was now by the bookshelf, pushing all the different books back into the correct spaces. John had made him take them all out and put them all back, going by alphabetical order of the surname of the first author. It was tedious, but then Sherlock assumed that was the point. He had done the first 3 shelves out of the 5 and he sighed heavily.

“Boring you, is it?” John asked. He looked across at his sub from where he was sat, lowering his paper to do so.

The detective looked pissed off, but he was doing the job. Sherlock glanced from the bookshelf to his Dom and back again. “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Is that a lie?”

Sherlock's head dropped. “Yes, sir. I just meant, I'm not complaining, sir.”

“Damn right, you shouldn't be. If you do decide it's too boring for you, you can always see if Mycroft's got a spare bookshelf you can sort out.”

“No, sir! No.”

The fear that flashed across Sherlock's face was enough for John to nod once and point back towards the shelf. He raised his paper again and the younger man turned back to face the wall.

John did occasionally lower his paper to watch his boy work. He had done it systematically. John wouldn't have said that Sherlock was organised at all, but he must have realised that the Dom would probably check. He was right. For every book in the wrong place, he was going to get a strike with the cane. He didn't know that yet, of course, and he still had another 3 bookshelves to go. He didn't know that either.

The fact that Sherlock was taking the time to do it properly helped to reassure the doctor that the sub was taking this seriously and he was glad his boy was getting fed up, that was the idea, and it was proof that he wasn't a robot.

“Excuse me, sir,” Sherlock said quietly.

John looked across. “What?”

“I'm finished, sir.”

“I don't think you are.”

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly and he turned to face the bookshelf again, panicked.

“You misunderstand me, boy. There are 3 other bookshelves in this room, are there not?”

A sheepish detective was what turned back around. “Yes, sir.”

“Well you know what you'll be doing for the rest of the afternoon then, don't you?”

“Yes, sir,” he said softly. He moved to the next shelf without complaint and John glanced at the clock.

“But you can do that after lunch. For now you are going to call for a take away, or, in fact, you are going to go downstairs to Speedy's and ask Mrs. Hudson for some sandwiches, then you are going to come back up here and clear that blasted experiment off the table.”

Sherlock flinched at the last sentence, but nodded. He reached the door and froze. “Sir?”

“Yes, boy?”

“May I put on some clothes? I might scare her…”

John was glad he hadn't lowered his paper this time because he couldn't help but smile. He had told Sherlock to strip the dressing gown off over an hour ago and instead lit the fire. He liked watching Sherlock's arse wiggle as he knelt up and down to certain shelves.

“You may put on a shirt and a pair of trousers, no pants.”

“Yes, sir.”

John heard the detective sigh audibly in relief and quickly ran into the bedroom to find some clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

John made Sherlock kneel beside him when he brought the food up, but first he made him clear away the experiment and put it in the fridge, _on the bottom shelf, boy!_ He had him put his clothes back in the bedroom.

When the detective was next to him, he didn't utter a sound and knelt perfectly upright, his hands in the small of his back.

He chewed and swallowed every mouthful John gave him without complaint. Sherlock clearing his experiment away without complaining had been a surprise, but eating… he was beginning to believe his pet felt genuinely sorry for what had happened at Baskerville.

He was further persuaded when at the end of lunch he silently crawled back to the corner where the bookshelf was.

It took Sherlock a total of 4 hours to finish all 4 bookshelves and when he was finished with the last one he crawled to where the Dom was sat typing with his feet up.

“Am I finished, sir?” He asked softly. John looked up over his screen. He eyed each shelf for a moment before glancing back at the kneeling man.

“You tell me.”

“I think so, sir.”

“I wonder if Mrs. Hudson has any bookshelves downstairs…”

Sherlock's mouth opened to complain, but he snapped it shut, his jaw making an obvious clamping noise. His head lowered instead. That was what John needed to see. He didn't know that John wasn’t going to suggest downstairs. He also didn't know that John had no intention of letting him out of his sight for more than a moment, so going downstairs for a few hours was never going to happen. Either way, he accepted John's words without complaining or arguing.

For the first time in a long while, John dropped his hand on his sub’s head. He heard the sigh of relief from the floor and watched the detective for a moment. He was tense, incredibly so, but bit by bit, it seemed to be draining away.

“Don't worry, boy. You're not going downstairs.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said quietly, clearly pleased.

“I wouldn't thank me too soon. For every book in the wrong place, I'm going to give you one stroke of the cane and it will be number 3.”

Number 3! Sherlock couldn't believe it. He'd been punished with 3 before, but he had put the entire Yard in danger by saying the wrong thing to a volatile victim. The victim had gone on to become the suspect.

He didn't voice this, however. “Yes, sir.”

“Which means if one book is in the wrong place, another one is going to be. The further out you are the more cane strikes you tally up.”

“Yes, sir,” he said again, slightly disappointed when the hand moved from his hair. Don't complain, don't complain. He took a few deep breaths and watched nervously as the doctor wandered to the first bookshelf.

John didn't tell him how many his tally was at the end of each shelf, but waited until the end.

“What's the damage, sir?” Sherlock asked softly. He was trying to improve the mood and relationship between them by being cheeky, but… was unsure after he opened his mouth which way it would go with the mood the Dom was in.

John smiled. “9. Not bad. A lot better than I was expecting.”

Whew!

“In the bedroom.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Er… crawl, brat!”

Sherlock winced at his mistake. He had been doing so well. He dropped back to the floor and moved into the bedroom on all fours, silently hoping John wasn't going to punish him further. 9 strokes he could handle. 19 would be a different story.

“On the bed. On your back.”

The first thing John did was grab his leather, well-worn cuffs. He tightened them around each limb respectively. The next thing he did was attach a piece of rope to each one and then pulled the detective's legs up. Sherlock instinctively bent his knees and John tied the rope to each bed post.

“Nice and vulnerable,” John whispered, leaning forward and licking around his pet's hole. The ropes rattled as Sherlock shifted at the sensation.

John peered up between his legs. “Are you going to behave for me, pet?”

He was chewing on his bottom lip to keep quiet as the tip of the doctor's finger found its way to his hole, but didn't breach it.

Sherlock wasn't quite sure where the cane appeared from, but suddenly his Dom was holding it. The strike came down so fast he didn't get a chance to brace himself and it landed with a loud thwack. He could taste blood as his teeth went through his lip, but he didn't make a noise, even as he felt the heat from redness that was no doubt left behind in a long thin line.

John tapped the cane under his chin. “Let go of your lip!” He ordered, landing the cane on the bottom of one of his feet. It wasn't as hard as it could have been, but Sherlock's eyes were wide.

“You don't hurt yourself. If I want you to hurt, I'll make you hurt. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He took Sherlock by surprise when the cane landed just above the red stripe already flaring on his arse. He had tensed his other foot, waiting; expectant.

The doctor's finger went back to his hole again, the tip just breaching slightly. A moan escaped the detective's mouth and John replaced his finger with the tip of the cane. “Will you remain silent or do I have to gag you?”

“I'm sorry, sir.” He clamped his jaw shut. “I'll be quiet, sir.”

John watched him for a moment before nodding.

Sherlock focused on the mark the cane had left behind on his foot. It was worse than anywhere else because of the way the skin stretched and pulled. He reflected on actually how lucky he had been not to get in yesterday and get the cane straight away. John brought him out of his Mind Palace by striking his other foot.

“How many is that?”

“F-four? Sir?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you, sir. Four, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

For once the detective began to doubt himself and his answer was a guess. “Yes, sir.”

“Okay.”

John climbed up between his legs and leant down to bite at his nipple, “You know what's coming don't you?”

“Yes, sir.”

He'd anticipated the nipple clamps that bit and pulled and tugged. Instead, a ring was pushed between his lips and the leather went around behind him, tightening up.

“Guessing gets you nowhere, Sherlock. You know this.”

Sherlock attempted to clamp his teeth together just for the sake of it, but ended up just sighing and rolling his eyes. 5 strokes left.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

John told him to close his eyes, but after all that, he was gone. He'd tied him to the bed and then just left. He struggled a bit, fruitless he knew, but he did it more out of principle than actually trying to pull free. He didn't want to risk opening his eyes. If the Dom was still here, he would be in serious trouble, more so than he already was.

The doctor hadn't left. He wouldn't leave Sherlock alone tied to the bed, despite his anger. If Sherlock got on top of his emotions, he would know that too. His head was swinging from side to side as he fought against opening his eyes.

Deciding to use his pet's good behaviour to his advantage, he grabbed the clamps and leant over the detective. His nipples were already peaked, given the fact John had just been teasing them, and with fluid motions, he managed to clamp them down both at the same time. Sherlock yelled out and his eyes snapped open. He moaned around the gag, but none of it was easily understood.

“I thought I told you to close your eyes!” John barked.

Fear flashed across his face, but he quickly masked it and closed his eyes obediently.

This was something else John needed to see: force him into messing up and then seeing his reaction afterwards. So far, it suggested he really did feel remorse. It made a nice change, to be honest.

He quickly manipulated his sub's cock into a cage and tightened it behind his balls. “Such a shame that you don't deserve to come, isn't it?”

There was no response. He couldn't really offer one given his position, but the least he would normally do is nod. He moved down the bed a bit further and kneaded the hovering thighs. A broken whimper was the response.

It took a few minutes for him to open up his hole wide enough for his usual plug and he pushed that in so it was flush with his arse, then untied him and removed the gag. He walked off, heading towards the door.

After a few minutes, Sherlock followed and found him in the kitchen. He looked a bit dumbfounded and still had the clamps on his nipples, connected by a short chain. John hooked his finger around it and tugged. Without argument, Sherlock dropped to his knees.

“Now, you are still on punishment, but are you willing to try again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Finish making the tea and then come and find me.”

Sherlock did just that and deposited the Dom's tea on the coffee table. Then he dropped to his knees in front of the doctor, between his legs.

“Is that how you're planning to make it up to me eh?”

Sherlock smiled slightly. John's voice was a lot softer than it had been since everything had come to an end at Baskerville. He nodded and John sprung his hard cock free.

He ran his hand through the curls in front of him. “Good shout. I think this could work out. You being well behaved all the time and sucking my cock.”


End file.
